A Little Help?
by TinyCitrusLegs
Summary: <html><head></head>Cronus struggles with his desire to be human. Kurloz helps him settle in his skin. WARNING! There is a lot of gore and intense sexual torture. I do not support torture, of course, and this is merely a fictional work.</html>


A Little Help?

Reader: Be the Douchebag Greaser.

Evolving is a slow process. You don't see tadpoles springing to adulthood or caterpillars sprouting wings. It all takes time.

But time is the enemy.

There's too much of it. There won't be a day where you rest easy in your slimy skin, so why not change now?

It's explosive, like a firework, and you're even shocked with your actions as you go around your hive and smash every reflective surface into hundreds of shards. Anything violet is torn to shreds by the time you're done as you kneel shakily in the entryway. Every part of you quakes and shivers, and you think about what you want, what you must do.

Then you're scrambling, as if racing to deactivate a bomb, until you get to your respiteblock and face the frame that once held your full length mirror. There are still bits of glass flimsily hanging on, and your hand eagerly dives in to pluck a healthy sized chunk of glass. At this point, you halfway wish that you left _something _so you could see what you were doing. Then again, maybe not. The tighter you hold the glass, the more pressure it sets on your skin, and it eventually draws a line of violet out of your palm. You wince, and shit, it fucking hurts, but you gotta do it, right?

And you remember the explosive feeling. Just one swipe, and it's over. So one of your hands goes up to clench one of your fins while the other clutches the shard of glass dangerously close to piercing skin. Your hands tremble, and you pause. Tears start welling in your eyes, your lungs are heaving, and you bite your lip tightly before the shard falls and clunks against the floor.

You're a goddamn piece of shit.

Fuck, you even start crying.

**Now, what the motherfuck is up with you, fish scum?**

Things just always seem to get worse, don't they? There's a weakness that you can't just push away, so you look halfway pathetic when you give the Makara a disgruntled and annoyed expression. "It's rude to just barge into someone's hive. What the hell are you doin' here?"

Damn him. He gives this jovial grin, stretching his stitched mouth to a straining noise. That makes your limbs twitch.

**Are you really one to dictate what is rude or not? Your thinkpan must be turning foul if you are. Beside that, I all up an' heard a rumlin' tumblin' from far away, thought I'd see what you're doing **_**this **_ **time.**

Then he's moving closer. Your heart is pounding in your throat; at this very moment, his presence is the **last **thing you want. He lives (well, not anymore) to victimize, everyone knows it, hell, look what his dancestor did! So when he takes a step closer, you shuffle back, almost falling onto your palms, but then he's giving you this really demented frown, almost a sad look. Shit, you feel strangely guilty.

**What you think I'm gonna do to ya? **_**Bite? **_He gives a snort and stretches his lips to a grin. **Why don't you let a motherfucker help? Can't be all up to morphing less you got a catalyst to bring you up fast an' good, brother. **

This entire time he's been sneaking closer and closer, he could touch you with just a bit of a reach of his hand. "Stop all that yammerin', Makara, and get to the point. I'm not a patient man in dire moments like these," you're begging, although in a thick voice, trying really fuckin' hard not to be a pansy. But shit, it's so hard. The words sound thick and numb on your tongue, and it doesn't help that this voice like cracking bones is echoing in your head.

You're gasping in a moment, breath being sucked from your lungs when his hand grabs your jaw and there's a pressure on your cheeks. Tears start trailing down your face cause you are frightened beyond belief, and this fucked has a stone hard grip. His other hand moves, nimble fingers tracing one of your fins and making it wiggle.

**You ain't a man at all, Ampora. Not yet. Don't you want a little help? Can't be all up and cuttin' yourself without a little bit of apprehension. I know. **The hand on your fin leaves for the briefest moment before there's a cold pressure along your jaw, just below the fin, and you can just barely see that thick shard being held in the skeletal being's hand. You're trembling then, fright making your heart soar, and you want to scream, but you can't. **What? Ain't this what you want? Ain't you all up an' desiring to muck up, shed yourself of your unruly features and flesh? You can't all up an' quit without tryin'!**

There's stinging, and something- not just something- is dripping down your face, into your mouth, and you gag and scream in horror, pain, and disgust. You realize that you're trying to get away, but your movements are jerky and faulty. Kurloz easily takes you into the grip of his palm on your throat, and you are defenseless.

**C'mon brother, look it, look at what I got you doing! You're changin', changin', **_**motherfucking changing! **_**And I'm helpin' you do it. **His voice is ringing like a drum in your thick head. it feels like a block of cement hanging on your peg of a neck while thick, warm, violet is pouring down and dripping to the floor. When it gets to stinging your eyes, you squeeze them shut, and the only thing you're aware of now is screaming, pain, and the sound of flesh ripping.

**Look it, my aquatic brother. Look at how we got you changin'. **You do notice a change. Instead of a pulling and burning pain, you're only feeling pressure, stinging, and the let of blood. When you open your eyes, you're startled. He's holding out his hand in front of you, your mangled fin soaked in violet splayed within his palm.

You can't even hear yourself when you scream. It only lasts a brief second before you're pushed to the cold and dripping (with blood) floor, and then your other fin is stinging and burning.

This time around seems much more quick; your head is spinning and everything is warm and fuzzy. Your webbed hands reach out when you see Kurloz hovering over you, as if you were trying to stop. "Please- Kur-Kurloz…" Your voice is thick and blubbering, as if you're high or drunk. Kurloz is grinning widely, stitched stretching and aching. One of his hands starts pressing on your throat and you sputter.

**Motherfucker. Humans ain't got gills. **That's the only warning you get before there's burning, peeling, and scraping up the sides of your neck. This time you can't scream, instead, you start coughing, sputtering, and choking up blood. Little pleas break through your gags and the spitting of blood, but you know they fall upon deaf ears.

When he's done, you can barely breathe, and the salty, metallic, thickness in your throat doesn't let you speak. Your soundless form really humors the bastard before you, getting him snickering. It's hard to track what's happening, but Kurloz gets around to peeling off your blood soaked shirt and then is unbuttoning your trousers. In any other situation, you'd be up for someone wanting to rid you of your pants, but right now you are _definitely _not for it. Your struggling was severely dulled down, you could only barely lift your hand, but the powers that be allowed you sudden strength to push your perpetrator away, and even enough energy to start crawling away.

Kurloz isn't one to just give up.

You give a choked yell when he pulls you back by the foot. There's sudden violence then, and he's hitting, slapping, and slashing his shard of glass along your skin. It doesn't cut deep, but it makes you bleed. Then he's moving to pry your legs apart.

**My brother, human males **_**don't **_**have nooks.**

It's the sound at first that sets you off edge, then there's the feeling like molten lava burning your core. Your brain is so far from proper thinking that you barely come to terms with what's going on, but you know what he's doing.

Reader: Stop being the Douchebag Greaser.

Kurloz doesn't stop thrusting that shard of glass until it's nearly stained in violet and the seadweller's nook is left to nothing but macerated flesh. He's leaking profusely and smells of putrid blood. The Makara can feel his bulge twisting and aching in his pants, and he doesn't want to ignore its wants for anything.

So, he pulled his pants down and scooted forward far enough so he could push his squirming, dripping bulge into his victim's torn up nook. There's a sickening beauty in the particular way the seadweller ever so slightly jerks when he's penetrated. He's clearly in pain, agonizing pain, but he can't voice it with so much disorientation. Even his expression barely changes, only his brow twitching with the moment of impact.

Kurloz groaned at the expressions of agony and begin rolling his hips in vicious and cruel thrusts into the poor troll. He loved, absolutely _fucking _loved the way little sounds of slick squishing accented the let of blood and his own material. The Makara had been on edge since the very start, knowing what he wanted to do and acting on it.

It didn't take him long to cum and rid his genetic material into the seadweller's dripping nook. His victim just faintly trembled, a soft noise coming from his mangled throat to voice the agony.

The Makara got to his feet, dressed with only slight stains of violet. **Don't worry motherfucker, ya can't die **_**again. **_He farewelled blankly and left the seadweller to suffer.


End file.
